


Be mine, Valentine

by nutm3g



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Daddy Kink, Food Play, Kinda, M/M, just a Little orgasm denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 16:30:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5974125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutm3g/pseuds/nutm3g
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chocolate syrup isn't that bad, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be mine, Valentine

**Author's Note:**

> So this was a little bit of an impulse fic, because Valentine's is very soon and I wanted to give my fellow Borderlands fans a little somethin' special! It was written a little under (or over, I don't remember at this point lmao) two hours and hastily skimmed over, but I hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> Since I've been making a few edits here and there, I'll have this posted soon on my nsfw blog. The url is insaciavele if you're gonna wanna reblog it!

Valentine’s Day. The day of opposite themes clashing.

Love and hate.

Affection and spite.

Love-making and, occasionally, homicide.

Though with Jack, there’s always a blur between the lines. Sex can turn into an execution real quick when Jack doesn’t get what he wants. “Good job, champ” one second, “You fucking useless idiot” the next. Kiss up too much and he laughs in your face. Show a little spine and you get knocked right onto your ass. It’s always a risk, always a shot in the dark because it’s near impossible to predict what kind of mood Jack is in.

And Rhys, the company man - the _fool_ \- is willing to gamble his life away, as always. All for a little acknowledgement which, based on previous encounters, might turn sour.

He’s shaking all the way to the office, clutching the heart-shaped box of sweets so hard he can feel it bend against his fingers.

“Calm down, Rhys, you’re not even there yet,” he mumbles to himself, slowing to a halt to steady his nerves. A minute passes and he’s walking again with a more confident stride, head held high.   

He’s had sex with the boss before, fuck, he’s sucked him off in the _middle of meetings,_ he shouldn’t be so damn nervous about giving him fucking candy.  

(But he tells himself that every time and leaves the situation, afterwards, thankful that he’s still alive and intact.)

And like every other time, Rhys feels like he’s shrinking when he gets to the door of that office. He reaches out, gently rapping the knuckles of his balled-up fist against the metal once, twice, thrice for good measure, waiting until the doors split apart, and even then he doesn't budge. The chair is turned, making it difficult to discern whether or not anyone is even in the office.

All’s silent. Rhys thinks Jack might have gone out, or that he’s busy, and then-- “Well? Don’t just stand out there like a moron, come in already.”

Nope. Still there, evident when Jack spins the chair to face him. Still perfectly capable of rendering Rhys useless with just a few gruff words.

With a deep breath, Rhys takes one slow step in, then another, then-

A bullet flies an inch past Rhys’ cheek, over his shoulder, out into the hallway where it’ll either ricochet off one of the walls or nail someone in the face. Better them than him.

Jack lowers his gun with a loud snort, dropping it atop the desk amongst incomplete paperwork, and props his feet up beside it.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have shot if you weren’t taking so long to get past the damn door.” So it’s possible he’s not in the best of moods. Perfect. Rhys is halfway to a heart attack by the time the doors shut behind him, and he has to focus like hell to keep from looking absolutely mortified. But really, how else is one supposed to look seconds after death just barely brushes by? All that confidence is gone, and now it feels like he’s on his way to the electric chair when he crosses the room.

“Sorry, uh…” Rhys begins, inwardly cussing himself out for sounding so damn meek. He panics briefly, not knowing what to say next, not wanting to say the _wrong_ thing, and opts to just get on with it. The box of candy - _expensive_ chocolate-dipped strawberries, specially ordered - is held out, and Rhys tries his damnedest to maintain eye contact, even if Jack _is_ boring holes into the center of his face with that scrutinizing stare. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

A long period of silence follows. Jack is staring at the box with such disinterest that Rhys’ heart drops right to his stomach, and suddenly he’s nauseous as all hell.

He clears his throat after what feels like an hour, shyly lowering the box and dropping his gaze to the floor.

“I understand if you don’t want them, they-”

“Kid, quit your fucking babbling and give me the box.”

? He wasn’t even talking that much, but okay. Damn, would Rhys have a thing or two to say if this were anyone else. It isn’t, though. It’s Jack he’s speaking to, and he’d really rather not lose his tongue today.

The box is promptly snatched when Rhys holds it out, ribbon torn clean off, dropped to the floor, and- _oh._ Jack might actually look a tiny bit pleased with his treats.

“Strawberries? Real cute, pumpkin! C’mere.”

Oh the joy! Rhys can barely contain his smile when he circles the desk to stand at Jack’s side, teeth gnawing at the inside of his lower lip in anticipation.

Meanwhile, Jack lowers his legs from the desk, scoots his seat back to make room, and motions to the empty space in front of him.

“Get on your knees.”

Like a dog (a _well_ -trained one at that.) Rhys bends to settle on his knees close to Jack’s legs, both hands resting on down on his own thighs. To this, Jack grins, plucking one of the strawberries from the box and pushing the tip of it to Rhys’ lips, opposite hand curling its fingers around Rhys’ jaw to keep his head tilted up.

“Now be a good boy and open wide for daddy.”

The tingles rushing up Rhys’ spine make his shoulders hunch, and his mouth falls open willingly, teeth scraping lightly against the morsel’s chocolate coating before they dig in, lips shaping around the fruit when he bites the end of it off.

Jack tosses the stem to the floor by the discarded ribbon to snag a second of the fruits, and for a few seconds Rhys almost feels a shred of pity towards whatever poor soul has to clean this office on a daily basis.

Almost.

It’s easy to disregard everything when Handsome Jack is personally hand-feeding him strawberries. Strawberries that, much to Rhys’ demise, are disappearing, one by one. He bought those specifically for Jack, and here he is swallowing them down like they’re the most delectable sweets in the world.

Jack doesn’t seem to mind. He’s completely enraptured, taken in by the way Rhys’ lips stretch around the fruit the way they’ve stretched around the girth of his cock time and time again.

“Look at _you_ , sucking on those strawberries with those pink lips,” Jack muses out loud, voice rough and dripping pseudo-affection as he releases Rhys’ jaw to palm at the bulge tenting his pants.

Box set aside, probably somewhere near that gun on the desk, Jack reaches over to dig around in one of the many bags and, wow, does Rhys feel sheepish when he glances over at the copious amount of gifts. Stupid, more like it.

“What’s the matter, Rhysie? Thought you were the only one to kiss ass with chocolates today?”

Well, that definitely isn’t making him feel better. He did already know that technically, he was just… hoping he _would_ be the only one.

Thankfully, Jack speaks up again, and cuts his train of thought off before he can put himself down even further.

“Here, finger yourself with this.”

A dark bottle is shoved into his hands, and Rhys has to read over the label twice just to make sure he isn’t misreading.

“Uh... chocolate syrup? Isn’t this gonna-”

“Yeah, some broad dumped that bag off and tried askin’ if she could ‘pay me a visit tonight’ so we could use whatever was in it. She was ugly though.” Jack pauses and waves his hand expectantly, getting comfy in his seat and unbuttoning his pants. “You get to use it with me instead, congrats!”

Chocolate syrup does not sound sanitary, and Rhys has every mind to refuse and fetch something better. Then again, he’s kneeling on this probably dirty floor minutes later after Jack barks at him to strip instead of just shoving his trousers down halfway, so.

The syrup is heavy on his fingers, uncomfortably sticky against the ring of muscle, but-- “ _Ooh,”_ he breathes out, as the first finger slides in to the knuckle. It’ll suffice, he decides.

He retracts his hand, squeezing out a generous amount onto two more fingers before they disappear between his legs to push their way into him. His tongue traces his lips, half-lidded eyes watching Jack’s hand as it slides beneath the folds of his zipper to massage along his cock.

“Feel good?” Jack asks through a toothy smile, voice an octave lower, a little breathier than before, and Rhys bites his lip to the pleasant sound of it. All he has to reply with is a muffled _mmn,_ a gasp following when he prods against his sweet spot. With digits angled, he rocks down, digging the fingertips of his cybernetic hand so hard into his thigh he can already feel the bruises blossoming.

“Good. Oh! By the way, you’re not allowed to cum ‘til I say you can. Got it?”

Sure, the idea sounds good now, sexy even, and Rhys is nodding along obediently, but it isn’t long until he’s a wreck; with his tear-streaked cheek pressed to the inside of Jack’s thigh, his body slick with sweat and trembling like mad, fingers pumping in and out of him so quickly that his wrist might just break at any moment. He tries speaking up, _begging,_ only able to pant out various broken phrases - _please let me cum, I need it so bad -_ whining pitifully whenever he gets too close and then whining again when Jack pulls at his hair to remind him not to disobey orders. It doesn’t help that Jack likes to tease him, too.

“What’sa matter? You gonna cum? You wanna bounce on daddy’s cock?” He chuckles when Rhys keens particularly loud, tugging his head back by a handful of hair to get a better look at him. “Jesus, kitten, you look like a fucking mess. It’s kinda cute. Why don’t you go ahead and cum for me now.”

Rhys is sure he’s never felt relief sweeter than when he finally peaks; mouth gaping just before teeth clench to muffle a long groan, hips bucking in desperation as muscles tighten around him, flushed skin stained in strands of cloudy white. Exhausted and content with the afterglow that follows, Rhys rests practically boneless against Jack’s legs, chest heaving unevenly with attempts at catching his breath.

But, of course, Jack isn’t about to just let him _rest_ like that. Why would he?

After pulling the poor thing to his feet and guiding shaky hands to the desk to steady himself, Jack busies himself with the bags once more, a victorious _ah_ leaving when he finds what he wants. A new bag is plopped in front of Rhys, who has to blink a few times to clear his blurry vision before he can even make out its contents.

Lingerie. Ah. Someone else’s attempt at swaying the boss into spending the night with them? Or maybe it was for Jack himself to wear. Rhys wouldn’t know either way, nor does he care to, because it’s his now. He’ll have to make a mental note to find out who it was and thank them personally. (And he’s definitely gonna have to wash up before he even touches that lace.)

“Go change into this and wait on daddy’s bed while he takes care of some business,” Jack orders near damn cheerfully, patting Rhys on the bottom twice before plopping back into his chair. And like that, he’s all business again, phone positioned between his shoulder and ear while he sorts through the miscellaneous papers spread out on his desk.

Rhys takes his time to get dressed now, still basking in the warm glow that settles in the center of his belly, smiling as he listens to Jack’s casual death threats before he’s ushered out with a “hurry up”.

His gift might not have been the only one, or even the first one, but at least Rhys can smugly say _he_ was the boss’ Valentine this year.


End file.
